


Cake

by memorizingthedigitsofpi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Cake, Gen, Inspired By Tumblr, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-13 06:23:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi
Summary: Aziraphale is predisposed towards forgiveness, but if you need to hasten the process it helps to use food.In chapter two, Aziraphale takes a page out of Crowley's book.inspired bythis tumblr post





	1. Chapter 1

Lettice Bryan was exactly the sort of woman you'd expect to have a name like that. Slightly round and very cheerful and just a little bit stupid. But in a kind way. She'd been born in Kentucky at a time after the British had colonized the area (and done truly horrific things to their fellow human beings in the process) but before it had become famous for fried chicken. She was the mother of eleven children and somehow still loved her husband very much. 

Lettice had a dab hand when it came to baking. Whilst some women fretted over pastries and others over cakes, every single sweet treat Lettice tried to make turned into the most sumptuous dessert that anyone had ever had. She was the reigning ribboner at the county baking championship, and a group of ladies was agitating for her removal from the competition. They argued it would do the world of good for a new winner to be crowned. Lettice hadn't heard of this yet, but once she had she'd step away without batting an eye or suffering a single hurt feeling. 

She was just that sort. 

She was in her yard one day putting the wash up on the line when a tall, thin man in strangely dark glasses came up the lane. 

"Good morrow, gentlewoman." He doffed his hat and bowed, showing off a mop of ginger hair. 

"Good morrow to you, sir," she replied cheerfully. She curtsied as best she could with a toddler on her hip. Whoever he was, he was elegantly dressed. "My husband is in his surgery."

Lettice Bryan's husband, aside from being remarkably virile, was a doctor. He had a reputation for killing fewer of his patients than most other doctors and as such he had a robust practice. He drew in custom from far and wide, so Lettice could be forgiven for assuming that's why Crowley was there. 

He was not, in fact, there for her husband.

"I'm not actually here for your husband." 

Lettice wasn't really sure what to say to that. Strange men wearing strange glasses and smiling strange smiles that made her blush were not a usual occurrence in her life. Still, as a mother of eleven, she was rarely surprised for long. 

"Well then, might I invite you in for some tea?"

"That'd be lovely, thanks."

There were more children inside, and they all investigated the strange man with curiosity. He looked uncomfortable with their stares but didn't actually put them off. Once they'd realized he wasn't going to do anything interesting, they wandered away again to play the games that children play and stay out of sight of their mum. Children who idled too long tended to get work assigned to them. 

"So how is it that I can help you, Mr...?" 

"Crowley. Anthony Crowley. I've heard about your cakes."

"My cakes?" Lettice flushed prettily and put one chubby hand up to her soft, round cheek.

Mr Crowley's smile broadened and she found herself patting her hair into place and then smoothing her hands down the front of her apron. 

"Oh yes. Everyone's heard of your cakes. You're quite famous, you know."

Lettice giggled like she hadn't since she was a schoolgirl and turned to take the kettle off the stove. "Oh, go on then."

Mr Crowley slouched down in his chair in a very unseemly way indeed, but Lettice Bryan couldn't seem to form a protest. Indeed, her corset suddenly felt too tight as she was having a slight problem catching her breath. 

"I've heard it said that your cakes are fit for an angel."

Lettice preened at that. "Well, I wouldn't want to say that I agree of course, but..."

"But."

She giggled again and patted her hair and smoothed her apron once more. 

"Word is, you bake the lightest, airiest cakes in the whole world. Cakes that practically disappear in your mouth, they're so light."

Lettice nodded and preened a bit more. She wasn't a prideful woman, but she did enjoy a compliment - and these were the best compliments she'd ever received.

"I'd like you to make me the lightest, airiest, sweetest cake you've ever made in your life. I'll pay you handsomely for it."

Lettice's eyes widened at the coins that appeared in Mr Crowley's hand. There were more of them in one place than she'd ever seen before. Enough to ensure her family's success for several generations, she was sure. 

"Come back day after tomorrow," she said promptly. Her brain was already ticking over with ingredients and methods. It was time to put all of her expertise to use. 

* * *

Two days later, Lettice Bryan was exhausted but there was a smile on her face as she pulled the cake out of the oven. It was lighter than any cake she'd ever lifted before. Even the colour was a paler gold with peeks of fluffy white visible here and there. 

It was still cooling on the table when the footsteps came up the drive. The rap on her front door somehow sounded just as friendly and charming as she remembered Mr Crowley being, and she rushed over to answer it. Pausing just before she opened the door, she lifted her apron to wipe the sheen off her face. 

Poor thing. She ended up with a swipe of flour right across her forehead. 

"Mr Crowley!" She was smiling broadly as she swung the door open, but her smile dipped slightly when she saw he had someone with him. "And Mr...?"

"Um, Mr, uh. Fell." The other man was more nervous looking and even more richly dressed than his friend. He took Lettice's hand and kissed it, and she found herself suddenly at peace. As if her children had all gone down for a nap at the same time. 

"Do come in, gentlemen." She ushered them into the sitting room and offered them some tea. 

"And did you manage to do what I asked?"

Mr Crowley looked at her searchingly and Lettice nodded so hard she ended up in another curtsy. 

"Yes sir, Mr Crowley. Just wait right here and I'll get it."

She hurried back to the kitchen and was pleasantly surprised to find that the open window had cooled her cake to exactly the right temperature. She placed it carefully on a tray along with some strawberries and cream and brought it rather triumphantly out and presented it. 

"The lightest and airiest cake I've ever made," she announced with some ceremony.

"Oh, I say!" Mr Fell's face fair lit up at the description and he scooted forward on his seat to get closer to her offering. "That looks positively delectable!"

"Told you I'd make it up to you."

Lettice looked from Mr Crowley to Mr Fell and saw some sort of message pass between them. From her years as a wife, she could see what was happening. This was an apology of sorts. A making of amends. Mr Crowley was offering, but would Mr Fell accept?

"Let me cut you a nice, big slice!" she offered cheerfully.

Getting out her knife, she cut off a generous slice. She then slathered it in cream and topped it with an amount of strawberries that would make her children gasp if they had seen it. She saw Mr Fell thaw a little bit as he took the offered plate. 

"It  _does_ look rather nice," he said with perhaps just a bit of begrudgement.

Both Lettice and Mr Crowley held their breath as they watched Mr Fell load up a fork and take a bite. There was a moment of tense silence when he closed his eyes, but then he let out a noise of pure enjoyment and it was all Lettice could do not to cheer. It felt like a far more momentous occasion than simply serving a cake, though she couldn't have explained  _why_ if you'd asked her to.

"Well done, Lettice." Mr Crowley held out his hand. Lettice cupped hers beneath it and he rained down a dozen or more coins into them. 

"Oh, this is  _delightful_." Mr Fell enthused. "Absolutely scrumptious."

Lettice had never heard that word before, but based on the way he was saying it she knew that it was good. 

"What kind of cake is this? I've never tasted anything like it before!"

"Oh!" Lettice blinked. "I haven't actually named it," she admitted. "I was so focused on the recipe I didn't even think of that. It's brand new, you see. Never been made before." She sat up a little straighter as she said it. It was quite a thing, being the first woman to make a recipe. Her name would be in every cook book in the county. Again. 

"Angel's food."

She looked over and Mr Crowley was grinning. He had sharper teeth than she'd noticed before. Or was that just a trick of the light. 

"Angel's food?" She wasn't entirely certain about that. It seemed a bit disrespectful. 

"Yes. It's a cake worthy of the Heavenly host."

Mr Fell paused for a moment and then took another bite. After chewing for a moment, he nodded. "I have to admit, it is."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Amelia Knittle peered into the shop windows uncertainly. The sign on the door hadn't moved her to believe that her knock would be answered, and yet there appeared to be some movement inside. Glancing down again at the advertisement on her phone, she wondered if she were absolutely mad for doing this.

She was just on the verge of turning away when the door opened and the fussiest man she'd ever seen smiled at her in almost precisely the same way that her grandmother had done when she'd said something particularly adorable. She looked down self-consciously, half expecting to see herself wearing a stained pinafore. 

"Miss Knittle,  _do_ come in!"

She blinked in surprise. When she'd called earlier she hadn't given her last name. Slowly, but with the reassurance that her best friend was sitting in the car across the street ready to call the police if anything untoward happened, she followed him inside. 

"Mr Fell?"

It was the name that had convinced her to come. Her Great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother (she paused to count the greats, lost track again and then just gave up) had passed down the story of Misters Crowley and Fell and the creation of the Angel Food cake. Even now, it was the claim to fame for the family. If only she'd named it for herself, and if only patents for cakes had existed back then, perhaps Amelia wouldn't be as decidedly middle class as she was. 

It could be worse, though. The family could have stayed in Kentucky.

"Yes, that's right." He smiled again and Amelia found herself feeling calm and content for no discernible reason. "I knew your - knew  _of_ your ancestor Lettice Bryan. She had quite a way with cakes."

Amelia nodded. It was all a bit much, really, this strange, dapper, harmless middle aged man in the middle of a dusty old bookshop with slightly alarming things just outside of her peripheral vision that were never really there when she tried to look at them properly. She gripped her phone a bit tighter, ready to press send on the emergency text but not yet needing to. She didn't think.

"So I've been told," she said slowly. "Is that why you wanted to talk to me? About Lettice?"

"About cake, actually."

He popped up on his toes a bit and his whole face lit up. There was even a bit of a wiggle as he set himself down again and Amelia found herself liking him despite herself. 

"You're a fan of the angel food, are you?" she asked. She was warming up to him a bit now and ready to smile. 

"Oh yes,  _quite_. It's utterly delectable! Positively scrumptious!"

Amelia let out a soft laugh. How could she possibly be scared of a man like this?

Still. She'd grown up in London. She wasn't going to tell her friend not to worry until she was safely out of the shop.

"Well, what can I do for you then?"

"My friend- _'s ancestor_ commissioned yours to make that cake, all those years ago."

Amelia tilted her head at the way he said that. Sounded a bit suspicious. 

"Alright," she said, back to being more cautious now. 

"And I wanted to commission  _you_ for one, now, to give to him."

Amelia blinked. That was why she'd been brought here for by a mysterious ad posted simultaneously in every newspaper seemingly around the world? She'd only seen it because of the way it had blown up on social media. No one could explain it and everyone was curious. She'd had to try a half dozen times to call because the phone was always engaged. No doubt hundreds of people had called in just out of curiosity. 

"You want to commission me?" she repeated. "For a  _cake_?"

"Yes, exactly. And I was hoping you could make a devil's food. You know. To balance it out."

She opened her mouth to reply but found that she didn't have the faintest idea of what to say. This man had spent who knew how much money and god knew how much time attempting to find her in order to get her to bake a devils food cake to give to his friend? He hadn't even checked to see if she could cook! Which she definitely could  _not_. 

He seemed to take her hesitance for disagreement because he immediately moved forward with a hand extended. "I've got the money right here," he reassured her. 

Amelia held out her hand in silent disbelief. Mr Fell dropped four heavy gold coins right into her palm.

"Half now. Half when you bring the cake?" he asked. 

He looked to eager and earnest, she couldn't help but agree. His whole face lit up when she did. 

"Excellent. Bring it back here in two days' time, yes? In time for tea?"

She nodded again, still not quite able to speak, and then he was showing her to the door. 

She stood there for a moment as the door closed behind her, and then her friend rushed across the street. 

"Are you okay?" Lydia's face was creased with concern and she'd clearly been out of her head with worry for the whole five minutes Amelia had been inside. 

"I think so?" Amelia answered uncertainly. After another moment she nodded with more confidence. "Yes. Yes, I am."

Taking Lydia's hand, she checked for traffic and then walked them both back across the street to Lydia's car. 

"I need to go to a goldsmith or a jeweller or something. And then I need to go to the store." 

How hard could it be, making a cake?

* * *

Crowley entered Aziraphale's shop and tried not to let the jingle of the bell get too far on his nerves. Not that he  _had_ nerves, exactly. He had an _understanding_ of what nerves were and how things like jingling bells could get on them. He'd invented them after all. 

" _Crowley_."

He spun around and saw Aziraphale just coming into the shop from his office. He had his hands clasped in front of him apologetically and he looked utterly glad to see him. 

Despite himself, Crowley smiled. He managed to keep it mostly to a smirk. For the look of the thing.

"Aziraphale," he said. His tone was a bit short and he nodded his head a bit curtly. 

"Thank you  _so_ much for coming."

Aziraphale gestured him inside and Crowley found himself confronted with a fully laden tea trolley and a young woman who looked distinctly out of her comfort zone. 

"This is Amelia Knittle."

The woman dropped an awkward curtsy and Crowley's smirk morphed into a broad grin. "Lettice Bryan's Great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great granddaughter! Hah! Well I never."

He frequently  _did_ , but that wasn't how the expression goes.

"She's brought you a cake," Aziraphale told him. He looked rather proud of himself, wiggling his shoulders back to stand up tall. 

"Did she?" Crowley looked from Amelia to her cake and then back to Aziraphale. "Is this an apology?"

Angels don't blush, but if they could then Aziraphale would have in that moment. "That depends. Do you accept?"

Crowley decided to let him stew for just a moment or two longer. Turning back to Amelia, he nodded his head at the cake. "Cut us a slice, will you?"

She winced slightly as she passed it over to him and Crowley knew immediately why. Sarah Lee. She'd brought the angel a boxed cake. 

He let out a bark of laughter and took an unaccustomed bite. Eating really was more of Aziraphale's thing than it was his, after all.

"Absolutely decadent," he decreed a moment later. He saw Amelia visibly exhale. He was tempted to lower his glasses and give her a wink but Aziraphale spoke before he could. 

"So you like it then?"

"I  _love_ it."

There was a moment of mutual understanding between them. A look and a smile and a meaning that they never discussed. 

Although, just lately, they'd come closer to discussing it than they had in 6000 years. 

"Apology accepted," he concluded. 

"Oh,  _excellent_." Aziraphale sighed happily and passed Amelia a handful of gold coins. 

Crowley snorted. You'd think the man could give her modern currency. But then, Aziraphale loved traditions - and apparently this was going to be one of theirs. 

* * *

A half hour later, Amelia left and once more was met by a worried Lydia. 

"Did it go alright? I still can't believe you made a  _mix_ for all of that money! Were they terribly angry with you? Did they make you give the money back?"

Amelia shook her head and grinned. 

"I got the other half," she said, holding out a hand full of coins. " _And_ the friend gave me a hundred quid on top of it! Said he'd never actually eaten one before and that it was a shame because it had been his idea." She paused and frowned. "I'm still not sure what he meant by that, but at any rate - dinner's on me!"

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Lettice Bryan wrote the first cookbook with Angel Food Cake in it](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angel_food_cake#History), and with a name like that how could I resist putting her in this fic?


End file.
